The Dwelling Place

The cottage was situated roughly two acres from the street. If you weren't looking for it you could easily fail to see it for the abundance of shade trees dotted across the front year. The long, winding driveway, never having been paved, had more than a few small potholes in the gravel, therefore, making the journey up to the cottage unpleasant if traveling over 10 or 15 miles per hour. The pay off is the opportunity to enjoy the view along the way. Even though the distance from the street to the house is a short 2 to 3 minutes, it seems as if you are slowly transported back to another time, another place. First you cross over a small wooden bridge that takes you to the backside of the shade trees. The passover has obviously seen better days but seems sturdy enough. Next passing a small pond on the right, perhaps once ideal for a father and son to spend a lazy morning with a fishing pole and a can of worms. Now the pondwater is murky and scummy. No respectable fish would be caught in those living conditions.

Now the cottage is in sight. The wood posts and railings on the front porch are splintered and the once bright and shiny white paint is cracked and flaking. The slight breeze is effortlessly swaying the porch swing. The ever familiar flag, now showing its age, is still positioned on its column.

With a good imagination, once could conjure up many happy times; family picnics, sleeping outdoors under the sars, catching fireflies. The smells wafting out of the kitchen; apple pie, chicken frying, made-from-scratch biscuits. And the stories this old place held; girl cousins sharing the secrets of first dates and junior high crushes. The boys....well, who knows what they boasted about.

Meredith pulled up at the end of the drive, put her car in park and turned off the ignition. She rested both elbows on the steering wheel and propped her chin in her hands. Staring out the dusty windshield of her old '98 Chevy Cavalier she gazed up at the weathered cottage. For a moment she pictured it as it was in her childhood. Pale yellow clapboard, white posts and trimmings. Window boxes filled with purple morning glories and red pansies. The upstairs windows thrown open with the curtains blowing in the breeze. The screen door in the back slamming shut followed by hushed giggles.

At least twenty years had passed since they had all shared the summer here together at Mama and Papa's home. For Meredith it was an escape from her real world. A few weeks she could relax and just be. As far back as she could remember, even as a child, Meredith never felt secure except for the time that she spend here.

A car honking jolted Meredith out of her daydream. A look into here rearview mirror told her the rest of her cousins, aunts, uncles and other assorted family members were making their way home. Would their recollections of the cottage and times spent here be similar to hers? Maybe it didn't hold the same sacredness as it did for Meredith. Perhaps some didn't reminisce about summers spent here with their grandparents. Possibly as the grew into teens, they only visited because they were obligated to come.

In later years, Meredith hadn't spent as much time with most of her cousins. She barely knew them now, which felt odd since they were closer than sisters back then. Meredith, Jan and Vicky, all closest in age, were inseparable. The Bobbsey triplets they were called! Now, just sporadic contact with a couple of the girls. Mostly who was married, how many children they had. Who was sick, who had died. None of them got together like they used to. Before Mama and Papa had passed away.

She knew Bill, the eldest of the fifteen first cousins, was a lawyer with a pretty recognizable name and a reputation as a tough attorney in the courtroom. Meredith had seen his name in the papers a few times representing, and winning, high profile cases. Jan was married now. Both she and her husband, Jim, are doctors. Pediatricians. There were a couple of accountants and more than a few teachers. They were all scattered about. Would they come together as if no time had passed or would they now seem like stranger? Meredith wondered how they would all get along. Especially at a gathering like this.

(The Dwelling Place is the beginning of a 'Round Robin' one author writes the beginning, the next fills out the middle, the third and final author brings the story to a close....it will be interesting to see what happens to my Meredith!...I will keep you posted!)